Aunty’s Purpose

It’s 4 a.m. I’m standing in front of the internal light of the microwave, holding Ri, gently swaying to keep her asleep while my coffee mug heats, the one hot dark roast will be dripping into in just a couple of seconds.

Her mama told me she is teething again, so the last few nights have been interrupted by pain.

Standing, swaying, waiting, mindful of her rhythm, I’m remembering why thirty-something years ago, Liz and Andrew asked me to be Jake’s godmother.

“You’re good with babies, and Rusty is street smart—for when he’s older.”

This was to ensure that if both parents died, he’d be loved as a baby and later be taught all the curse words and how to be tough. Rusty was a NYC firefighter. Liz figured we had him covered for a good, foundational, safe life.

Both parents are fine.

And Liz was not wrong about me.

There’s something about this time in a child’s life that I am especially drawn to.

My favorite part is putting them to sleep. Providing a safe space in my arms to a sleeping or almost sleeping child, it’s like it’s clear to me what my purpose is on earth.

I think about a snapshot of my brother, Andrew, and me at my parents’ house, sitting on the living room floor in a sea of nieces and nephews, as well as our own children. They slept in the living room on air mattresses, and Andrew and I must have woken from some stirring in the living room. In the photo, it’s clear from our attire and before-coffee look that we went from our sleepy beds to the living room. But we were in our glory, which was also evident by our ease and smiles.

All of my siblings were loving and amazing parents. But it makes sense that Andrew and I were the ones who took on the role of the playful aunt and uncle. While everyone else might be fixing lunch or cleaning the kitchen only to plan for the next meal, or organizing car seats for the next outing for the gaggle of kiddos, Andrew and I hung out with them.

For the longest time, I recall never helping with meal prep or cleaning the kitchen. I knew at least four experts were covering that area. It never occurred to me that maybe one of them would have liked to just play. But I think Andrew and I naturally gravitated toward the littles, toward the noise and play and being right in the middle of them.

And now I get to do it again with Ri. I get to be her special Aunty. She keeps me solidly grounded in purpose. Baby-proofing the house. Giving her as much safe freedom to explore her world and herself in it. Redirecting her when she’s upset from a “can’t have this.” Teaching her to be gentle when she’s petting the dog. Marveling at every new thing about her.

At 4 a.m., before the world wakes up, it all feels very clear to me.